Shelter In The Storm
by WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot
Summary: Complete. Set during Draco’s 7th year. He resists, but she compels. He shows her, but she does not run away. Draco and Astoria in the Slytherin common room. Pre-ship. For HP Rare Pair Shorts LJ community.


**Summary: **Set during Draco's 7th year. He resists but she compels. He shows her, but she does not run away. Draco and Astoria in the Slytherin common room.

**A/N: **Thanks to Sara Winters for making sure this wasn't complete and total crap, and thanks to Kerichi for picking up a couple of awkward syntax/writing, er . . . hiccups that I had.

For the Harry Potter Rare Pair Shorts Community Challenge#2: Use "It was a dark and stormy night" at the beginning of the story. I own nothing.

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"_It was a dark and stormy night_—"

Draco Malfoy nearly jumped out of his chair, the soft, feminine voice jolting him out of his reverie.

"For the love of Salazar!" He gathered himself together, pushing down the right sleeve of his robe, just as a crack of thunder rang out through the air, echoing in the stone chamber of the Slytherin common room.

"Isn't that how those old ghost stories go? '_It was a dark and stormy night_', dot, dot, dot?" Astoria Greengrass grinned at him. "I didn't mean to scare you, Draco."

"I was – _not – scared_!" he said, gritting his teeth. He turned back to the fireplace and rested his head in his hand, bracing his cheek against his ring finger. He watched this unwanted intruder with angry eyes, silently warning her she was treading on dangerous ground.

Instead, the younger Greengrass sister simply moved until she was more in his line of sight.

"It's not like you to be without your two companions, or Pansy Parkinson."

His eyes flitted over to her briefly, but turned back to continue watching the flickering flames. Another loud clap of thunder reverberated in the common room.

Astoria pointed a slender finger up towards the stairs, smiling slyly at him. "I noticed you sitting here, all the way up there. All by yourself, staring at your arm."

Draco snapped his head up, allowing himself a longer look at her through narrowed eyes. Draco was far more familiar with Daphne Greengrass, Astoria's older sister. But where Daphne possessed a darker appearance, with her hair and her eyes, Astoria was fairer in almost all the same aspects. She was more slender and taller than her sister and she carried herself with far more grace than Daphne, more becoming of a girl with their upbringing.

However, Draco thought, Astoria's naïveté was striking, given that she was teasing him about his arm. He glared at her, hoping that she caught his meaning.

She continued to smile at him.

"Does it look like I want to socialize, Astoria?" He flicked his fingers at her. "Go and find Daphne and chatter away." He bent his hand to mimic talking. "About the latest gossip or whatever frivolous things go on inside your head."

_Foolish child!_

"There's not much to gossip about these days, Draco," she said as she smoothed her night robes out and sat down on the couch perpendicular to his chair. He felt himself shifting away from her, pulling his arm closer to his side. He hoped his actions were subtle enough to not draw her attention. But when she cocked one delicately sculpted eyebrow, he knew his answer.

"It's true then?"

He noticed her voice was softer, more curious and surprisingly direct.

"Depends on what you mean by 'it', or 'true'."

She leaned forward. "You have The Mark?"

Draco could no longer look at her with disinterest. As soon as the words left her lips, he was left stunned, unsure of how to answer her, or whether he should answer her. She was still young, at least two years younger than he, and she was, figuratively if not literally, a princess, a spoiled, pampered child of wealth who knew little of the true nature of the world outside of her own home.

Indeed, her father and mother supported the Dark Lord's cause, even funding the Dark Lord's army and their operations. However, Astoria Greengrass seemed distant from that world herself, even as she quietly obeyed and followed their rule, a little like her older sister. Never once did he hear her utter the word "Mudblood," nor did he ever hear her refer to the Dark Lord as such. She seemed more comfortable with using "You-Know-Who" instead.

Draco knew she had been taught to hate the other side, but not to fight them. Astoria seemed to have been cut of the same cloth as his own mother. She had been raised to make a fine wife for any true pure-blood wizard, but not to raise arms against their enemies.

There was a part of him — he could feel it deep within him — that wanted to keep her, as well as others like her, from this part of the war.

"May I see it?"

Astoria held her hand out to him, as if to reach for his arm. Draco sat, dumbfounded.

"No!" He drew back, an angry, almost pained expression on his face.

"Why not?"

"You don't need to. I don't go advertising my personal life around, especially to little girls."

"Pardon me, I might be a fifth year, but I've already met my fair share of Death Eaters." Astoria spoke with an air of self-importance that would have impressed Draco had he not been so annoyed — or shocked.

"Then why do you need to see my arm?"

Astoria tightened and squared her chin. "You don't walk around, flashing it for the whole world to see. You've never once told me that you hope to see it on my arm, or my sister's arm." Her face fell a little. "You don't wave it like a flag, you haven't asked us to bow at your feet."

Then she peered at him in a way that unnerved him. "You don't _act_ like one of them."

Draco kept his brow low and creased. He wanted to stand up out of his seat, to storm away from this simple-minded girl, to thunder back to his dormitory and to another night of restless sleep . . . but he couldn't move.

Instead, he felt the anger he had been holding in his face diminish. As if some puppet-master was pulling his strings, Draco drew out his arm, still covered by the sleeve of his robe.

Resting his forearm on his knee, he shut his eyes and pulled back the black fabric.

Nothing was said, not a sound was made except for a small breath Astoria sucked in, which was barely audible. He didn't know why his eyes were still shut, but he couldn't make himself look at her as she looked at him.

He felt something press against his hand. His eyes flew wide open and he tried to pull away, but Astoria's hands held him tight and still. She made sure not to touch the forearm itself, but her grip compelled him to stop struggling.

"What are you—"

She looked at the thing on his arm, letting her fingers press against his bare wrist. Draco inhaled, watching her as her touch danced around it, but never made contact.

There was no fear in her face, nor was there any disgust. There was only satisfaction, tinged with sadness, as if her question had been answered even though it wasn't the answer she wanted. Astoria cocked her head to the right as her thumb rubbed against his skin.

"I don't know if it's because Mister Yaxley's and Mister Runcorn's forearms are so large, but theirs look so small." She met his eyes. "Yours looks like it's covering you."

Draco merely sat still, waiting for her next move.

Astoria kept her eyes on him. Finally, she squeezed his hand and pulled his sleeve down. "See, Draco? No harm."

He swallowed as she patted his hand one last time and she stood back up. "I think the storm has passed," she said, looking at the stone ceiling. "I haven't heard any booming thunder in a while."

Draco's eyes returned to the fire as she stretched her arms out in front of her. "I'll see you in the morning then? With the rest of our house?"

He didn't nod, nor did his eyes seek her face. Instead he listened as she moved towards the stairs.

"Goodnight, Draco," she said pleasantly, and she went back to her dormitory.

Only when he heard the door shut behind him did he tear his gaze away from the flames and returned back to looking at his covered forearm.


End file.
